


There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting.

by Sharpiefan



Series: The Shakespeare Series [21]
Category: The London Life (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Fluff, Gen, Napoleonic Wars, Peninsular War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 12:25:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10020701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharpiefan/pseuds/Sharpiefan
Summary: Robbie is terrible at maths, Bee... isn't.February 1812, after their return to the Peninsular War, two months after their wedding; they are still finding things out about each other.





	

_Note this before my notes; There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting._

_~ Much Ado About Nothing, Act II, Scene III_

 

**Portugal, February 1812**

 

Robbie had no idea how long he had been sitting at his desk, staring at the page of figures, by the time he threw down his pencil in disgust and stood to pull his uniform jacket back on. He certainly hadn't realised that Bee had returned from the river until he nearly ran into her on his way out of their room. She was still rubbing her hair dry but lowered the towel in order to give him a puzzled look.

 

“I'm going to inspect the horse-lines,” he told her, but she didn't shift. He gave an abortive gesture of frustration. “It's wrong, Bee.”

 

“What is?” she asked, stepping around him into the room.

 

He waved in the general direction of his desk and their accounts.

 

“How do you know it's wrong?” she continued, dropping the damp towel onto the sofa that was their campaign bed.

 

“Because it is! It always is, and I can't ever see where, never mind _why,_ and...” He huffed a frustrated sigh. “I'm going to inspect the horse-lines. I might even see where I've gone wrong when I get back.”

 

She cupped his cheek and pressed a kiss to his nose. “Go and see to the horses then, I'm sure they'll appreciate it.”

 

Robbie smiled tiredly at her, tied his sash and picked up his Tarleton helmet. Even a few minutes away from those wretched sums would help clear the gathering headache.

 

He returned, about half-an-hour later, to find Bee sitting on the sofa, sewing, with her hair neatly brushed and put back up, the accounts book closed on his desk with the pencil centred with precision on top of it.

 

She looked up with an expression almost of awe on her face.

 

“I had no idea we had so much,” she said.

 

Robbie paused in unbuttoning his jacket. “What?”

 

“A thousand pounds a year, Robbie?”

 

He frowned, crossed to his desk and flipped open the accounts book. His painstaking sums had been crossed out, with the corrections written in neatly below them. It seemed he had managed his usual trick of writing in the figure one above or below the actual number he wanted, which in one case had lost them a good five hundred pounds in the stroke of a pencil.

 

He looked across to her, slowly finished removing his jacket and hung it over the back of his chair before joining her on the sofa. “Bee, dearest, will you please keep the accounts in future? They give me a headache.”

 

She lowered the sewing to her lap and caressed his cheek. “Wives do, usually, don't they? But a thousand pounds...!”

 

He closed his eyes and shifted to rest his head on her shoulder. “Welcome to the Fitzgerald family, dearest.”

 


End file.
